


I write sins, not tragedies

by Ryukotsusei



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Marking, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Bonding, Forced Relationship, Ghoul Cannibalism (Tokyo Ghoul), Internal Conflict, Lies, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, Loss of Trust, M/M, Marking, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Organization "Goat" - Freeform, Orgasm Delay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunlit Garden - Freeform, Tragic Romance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryukotsusei/pseuds/Ryukotsusei
Summary: Number 240 - known to most ghouls and investigators under the alias 'Eyepatch' - was successfully taken into custody by Special Class Investigator Arima Kishou. An important move for the CCG, as Kaneki Ken is the leader of the 'Goat' insurgency movement. To get information from him, his life has been spared, but his current mental state is unstable and he suffers from severe amnesia. Arima and Furuta are assigned to take care of the problem. However, each of them has his very own plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language. I apologize in advance for any errors, but I hope that it is legible.  
> If you find any mistakes, please let me know.
> 
> I hope, you enjoy reading! :D

Arima unlocked the gate to the high-security wing of the Cochlea with his CCG-ID-Card.  
The reader flashed green and beeped quietly, then the components of the massive quinque steel door slid silently apart, revealing a sheer endless white corridor.

Arima entered, closed the gate behind him again and conscientiously checked the lock. Only then did he continue on his path.  
He ran past numerous doors. They were all high-security. Nobody came unauthorized in or out.  
Passing by, Arima flew over the signs attached to the doors.  
"Number 32", "Number 50", "Number 79".  
There were no windows, only artificial blue light from neon tubes, and it was so infinitely silent that every one of his footsteps resounded noisily on the immaculately glossy, hard floor.

He wasn't in any hurry. And he even enjoyed this absolute tranquillity.  
After all, not a single day passed on which he was not somehow the focus of interest and he had to admit - in the long run it was extremely tiring.  
Almost a week ago he had tracked down and struck down Kaneki Ken alias Eyepatch' as part of a wide-ranging raid within the 20th district.  
It had been easy for him and if he had not received the explicit, unequivocal order to keep him alive, he would have killed him mercilessly on the spot.

Their fight lasted exactly two minutes and 47 seconds and was hardly worth being called a fight at all - although Arima had to admit that Ken had done quite well anyway. As a rule, in a direct duel he only needed a single minute to bring his opponent to his knees. Admittedly, Arima had been very surprised by his father's decision. Normally Tsuneyoshi did not take prisoners - not if they were such a thorn in his side as Kaneki Ken had been. However, this move, at closer examination, made sense.  
With Ken, the CCG had eliminated their leader, but the danger of Goat was by no means averted.  
At least there was the possibility that the members would reorganize themselves and soon cause further unrest. Especially to avenge their fallen leader. to retaliate. To strike a particularly hard blow against the CCG.  
Of course Tsuneyoshi didn't want it to happen in the first place. However, Goat kept a very low profile since their appearance, acted consistently in the shadows and was only very rarely obviously violent towards investigators.

The organization was completely different from anyone else he had ever met in his career. Although Arima secretly admired her sense of discretion and peaceableness, it also made her incredibly difficult to grasp - and life unnecessarily difficult for him as a result. But they wouldn't get anywhere.  
It was simply not enough to criticise the CCG system publicly, to make political statements and thereby set in motion a more or less peaceful counter-movement.  
Their methods were admirable, but would never bring the hoped-for success. Arima had already seen a flyer distributed by Goat in the heart of Tokyo. It was preached of peace to finally end the senseless bloodshed and denounced that the CCG was nothing more than a huge slaughterhouse.  
Arima could well understand that many Ghoule and even some people shared this opinion - even if the latter had already surprised him a little.  
But yes, within the population there was quite a small percentage of people who sympathized with these ghouls in need of harmony. 

Arima himself was not fundamentally averse to them - after all, he too wished for nothing more than a world as non-violent as possible - but his position was completely different and he was already pursuing his own goals.  
With words you would never move as much as with a sword.  
To destroy and rebuild everything sounded much more promising to his ears than to change the stalled, almost overwhelming opinion of the population or even the Washuus.  
That's why Arima hadn't given a second's thought to spare Ken. Arima was loyal to the CCG. He was by far their most powerful investigator, had been honoured for his success countless times, was admired and was also Tsuneyoshi's pride and joy.  
Why would he jeopardize his position?  
His reputation?  
And especially for what?  
No one suspected him. Absolutely no one. His cover was perfect.  
With the help of the one-eyed owl, the CCG's worst enemy, Arima could initiate the end of the slaughterhouse so severely criticized by Goat.  
Your plan would work out, because if the enemy was in your ranks, you'd almost lost.  
Somewhere he still regretted it a little to have to take Ken completely out of the game. In and of itself, it would have been useful if Goat had further weakened CCG. But some things just shouldn't be. 

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

Arima had walked the corridor almost to the end and finally stopped in front of one of the secured doors.  
Eyepatch - Number 240' was carefully attached to a sign next to it, including a keypad. Arima gave the appropriate code, a sound was heard announcing that the door was now unlocked.  
Without hesitating, he came in. He always acted immediately. Had long since ceased to pause and reconsider his decisions or words.  
He had not had good experiences with hesitation.  
Therefore he walked through the room completely unperturbed, without looking left and right, although the direct confrontation was unpleasant for him.

Kaneki Ken sat on a chair.  
His arms were attached to the armrests with Quinquen steel shackles, his upper body and ankles were also tied to the chair. A vein access had been placed in his crook of his arm. Every two hours he was injected with a fresh batch of RC blocker.  
He didn't move. His chin rested on his chest, his gaze on the ground, although he must have no doubt registered his presence.  
Ken wasn't unconscious. For this he breathed much too compressed, as if it would be terribly exhausting for him to breathe at all.  
Arima didn't move either.  
Like a statue he stood in front of the bound half-houl and looked down on his slumped body.

Kaneki Ken. . . there was something about him - only what it was, Arima couldn't name it. No matter how long his attentive gaze rested on him - he found nothing particularly worth mentioning.  
"Number 240", Arima finally approached him.  
In his voice there was no aggressiveness at all and yet Ken seemed to be going through Mark and Bein. A tremor went through his body and he clenched his hands briefly to fists before loosening again. Arima immediately took note of this reaction.  
"Yes?", Ken's own voice sounded very quiet, as if the room was trying to swallow them completely. Quiet and rough. Ken's neck was dry, his lips brittle and cracked.

"I'm here to talk to you", Arima soberly explained the reason for his presence. Ken looked up cautiously. He wanted to look at him.  
He really wanted to, but he barely dared to lift a finger.  
Never before had Ken been so afraid of a man as he was of this stranger. Yes, his muscles were almost rigid with fear and his heart pounded breathtakingly fast against his ribs.  
I wonder why.  
What was wrong with him?  
Arima looked at him expressionlessly. Nothing on his facial expressions revealed what he was just thinking. Maybe Ken didn't want to remember him consciously, but his body did it perfectly without a doubt.  
The heavy wounds may have healed thanks to his regenerative abilities, but the pain must have burned into him.  
This panicky facial expression showed him all too clearly what might be going on in him.  
"I am Arima Kishou. Does my name mean anything to you?", he asked calmly. Ken shook his head slowly.  
"No. . . ", he finally breathed, "nothing at all. "  
"Nothing at all?", repeated Arima, "I see. Do you know why you're here?"  
"No. Not really. . . " Ken murmured and hesitantly shook his head again.  
"What's your name?", Arima asked mercilessly.  
"I am. . . My name is. . . I. . . " Ken's helpless stuttering was interrupted by another question.  
"Do you at least know what you are?"  
Ken hesitated.  
Arima only slightly pulled his eyebrows together, so that the fold on his forehead was barely visible.  
Apparently Ken's amnesia was far more pronounced than expected.  
"I. . . I'm human. "  
Arima was so surprised by this statement that he paused for a moment. "A human", he repeated objectively, like there's nothing out of the ordinary about this statement.  
Arima dared to doubt that Ken did not notice his heightened senses.  
Or was it actually possible to ignore them?  
Did he think she was perfectly normal?  
After all, Ken seemed completely convinced of the fact that he was human.

"So you don't know what I expect from you either?"  
Ken didn't answer, but Arima hadn't expected him to. That was bad. In this state, it was completely impossible to use him as a source of information.  
"What do you remember?", Arima asked and lifted his glasses a bit.  
He had to figure out how far his memory lapses were going. Most of Ken's memories seemed to have been completely erased, but perhaps there were things that had been spared from amnesia.

"What was I supposed to remember?", Ken obviously avoided it. He sounded desperate. Helpless. Weak.  
Hard to believe that the same young man on the battlefield had tried to fight him so doggedly.  
"I work for the CCG,", Arima finally told him, merely distanced, without paying any attention to his previous words.  
"The CCG?", Ken's eyes widened. It looked as if he would actually be able to do something with this information.  
"Is that why I'm here? Do you think I'm a ghoul? Is that why I'm tied up?",  
Ken's fingers barely clawed noticeably into the armrests. That was one of the little freedoms he had in his movements.  
Arima was silent.

"Why don't you answer?", Ken asked nervously, then shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was being told. And it was the pure truth.  
"I-I am not a ghoul!", Ken assured him sincerely, "Really not! What's. . . What am I supposed to have done to be a suspect? Please, tell me. I don't remember. . . " Ken's voice became ever softer, ever less convinced and anxious.  
"I'm sorry, but unfortunately there is no doubt about your identity as a Ghoul", Arima told him with unshakable certainty.  
"But. . . ", Ken tried to disagree, but he didn't finish the sentence.  
He was confused.  
The situation overtaxed him. Of course. Anybody would react that way.  
It had to be really bad not being able to remember anything.  
Ken had no idea what had happened.

He was completely disoriented, there were no clues, no clues. Nothing he could hold on to at all.  
He didn't know what had happened or what would happen to him.  
It's okay to be afraid,", Arima said, "because he felt he had to give Ken at least a little comfort.

Fear was something Arima knew only too well. Not because he was afraid of something, but she was omnipresent.  
Everyone knew fear.  
Arima was surrounded by it.  
He saw her when he killed.  
The panic in the eyes of the Ghoule when they realized they going to die.  
That they didn't have a chance to survive - his mere sight was enough.  
The fear of relatives who inquire about the victims of the Ghoul attacks. If they realized that their child, partner or parents could be dead. Eaten. Or worse. . .  
The fear of his colleagues just before they died.  
Arima didn't know how many had stopped breathing in his arms.  
His heart became heavy when he remembered.  
There was nothing he could do. Nothing, nothing at all. . .

Some of them just bled to death. Became stiffer and colder and so tired that at some point they fell asleep and didn't wake up.  
Others attain their inner injuries, although they assured him that they could still fight. Arima had done his best to assist his subordinates in their last moments.  
None of them should have to die all alone.  
And when he thought back about how the dying had clung to him with their last strength. . . How grateful they were.  
Arima didn't want to deny that he was a murderer, but in moments like these he realized how human he still was, despite everything.  
And somewhere it reassured him to still feel sadness and regret under all the blood and dirt.

Clear fluid ran through the transparent tube into Ken's body. Another dose of RC suppressive. Ken didn't respond. But Arima could see the fine hair on Ken's arm standing up. His head was lowered so low that the brittle white hair almost completely covered his eyes. The cold, bluish neon light made Ken's skin appear even paler than it already was.  
The half-ghoul had been wrapped in a white kimono-like robe.  
It reminded Arima of the clothes worn by the children of Sunlit Garden.  
The material was basically much too thin for the cold that prevailed in the cell. On the wall Arima could make out a metal couch - a kind of bed, only without a blanket or pillow. Just hard, cold metal.  
A door that Arima had not noticed before had to lead to a small bathroom. That's all there was in this room. Floor, ceiling, walls - everything was lined with shiny steel. The typical interior for prisoner rooms of the cochlea.  
Some of the prisoners were allowed to move freely in their cells, but special prisoners, such as Nr.240, were treated separately and according to circumstances. And as it looked at the moment, Ken would have to stay on the chair for the time being.

Ken didn't look him in the eye when he answered.  
"May I ask what happens to me now?",  
Arima nodded. After all, it couldn't hurt to calm him down a little.  
Perhaps some memories would even return all by themselves if fear no longer had Ken in its iron grip.  
"We need information from you", Arima said calmly.  
"Nothing more?", Ken asked astonished, "You're not going to kill me?",  
"At least not yet", Arima relentlessly specified.  
After all, he shouldn't get Ken hopes up either.  
"Yes. . . Right", he replied and then, "I'm sorry. "  
"What are you sorry for?", Arima asked without showing his amazement at the apology.  
"Everything I've done. And that I can't give you any information. "  
Ken smiled slightly. Bitter.

"In that sense, I'm completely useless to you. "  
"We'll wait", Arima replied decisively, "your memory may return. We've got time. "  
"Time. . . " Ken mumbled thoughtfully, "Is that so?",  
Yeah, at least a bit of time. He'd ask his father when he set the deadline.  
A few weeks. Maybe even a few months.  
But Kaneki Ken would undoubtedly die at the hands of CCG. Sooner or later.  
"I'll go now", Arima announced.

His task was accomplished for the time being. He would now wait for new instructions. Arima had already turned around and crossed the room halfway when Ken's voice stopped him.  
"Do you know my name? I'd like to know my name. "  
Arima did not turn around to him again.  
"Number 240. That's the only name that matters to you here. "


	2. Chapter 2

"Furuta?"  
"Hm?"  
The person addressed sat at the desk and was engrossed in his documents.  
To the left and right of him there were masses of paper piling up. He did not even look up when Arima entered Kijima's office and closed the door behind him.

"I need to talk to you. "  
"About what?", Furuta asked only moderately interested and turned a page of the report.  
"Via number 240. "  
Now Furuta finally looked up and turned the ballpoint pen, with which he was about to sign, restlessly in his hand.  
He would have predicted a matter concerning V. After all, it was often about V when Arima came into contact with him.  
He was afraid Kaiko wanted to see him. Creepy idea, Furuta never liked the guy - which was obviously based on reciprocity.

"Kaneki Ken? Don't tell me he's suddenly got something to do with me. Actually, I have more than enough to do here, as you can easily see. "  
With these words Furuta pointed to all the unedited reports, which were indeed hard to miss.  
Arima nodded, but apparently did not want to let go.  
"I can't do it alone," he replied calmly, "Tsuneyoshi wants you to support me. "

Instantly it began to bubble in Furuta and it was difficult for him to keep up the threadbare smile on his lips.  
Great news.  
How dare that goddamn bastard?  
Did he think he had nothing else to do but wait for some ridiculous orders from above?  
Did Tsuneyoshi think that his world would still be all about his existence?  
He was not allowed to get too involved in CCG affairs and thereby lose his freedom of movement.  
Otherwise his hands were tied and he could not pursue his own plans. Tsuneyoshi had probably made it his business to destroy his life - and it didn't look as if he would stop doing so in the foreseeable future.

Furuta crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap.  
He didn't let on how he would like to sweep all the paper off his desk from displeasure at the whole situation.  
But a little cynicism would probably be allowed.  
He would not be able to resist a few pointed remarks.

"Oh, yeah? Is that so? Our beloved father now appreciates my existence after all. Really very reassuring! I should send a thank-you card right now, don't you think? With the following text.  
"Thank you for making me worthy to do much more work for you.  
It is incredibly heartwarming how much he thinks of me and gives me this dignified task to take care of the memoryless public enemy number 1. Who wouldn't be pleased to hear that news?"

"Are you done with your sarcasm now?", Arima asked.  
No. Not for a long time, but he swallowed the rest of his bitter words.  
Felt a little like he was choking on them.  
Then Furuta snorted disparagingly and crossed his arms in front of his chest for a short moment, like a stubborn child, before leaning forward and supporting himself with his elbows on the bare tabletop. 

He'd have to negotiate whether he liked it or not. Not an easy task. Arima didn't really seem like he was willing to listen seriously to what he had to say.  
"Okay, okay. Listen. Please tell him thank you, but no thank you. Because I'm not his serf. He's got more than enough employees, let one of them do it. Shouldn't be a problem, right?"  
"He wants everything to do with Kaneki Ken not to leave the inner circle of the CCG. He can't hire anyone else. "

So the inner circle. . . These included all the children from the Sunlit Garden.  
As far as Furuta knew, however, there were not many of them in the ranks of the CCG. After all, only the very best were selected and appointed to serve as investigators. Not good, that actually reduced his chances to shift the task assigned to him to someone else.

"Ah, Top Secret, huh?", Furuta grinned crookedly, "What's so important about Kaneki Ken that no one else can know?"  
"He plans to integrate him into the CCG and this requires thorough preparatory work. "External influences are completely undesirable. "  
Admittedly - that was interesting news, but did not change his reluctance to take care of the matter.

"Just so I could make sure I understood you correctly," Furuta said and raised an eyebrow, "He wants to make Kaneki Ken his pet?"  
Arima ignored the statements, even though, despite the provocative formulation, she hit the nail pretty much on the head.

It was not so strange that Tsuneyoshi adapted his plans to the circumstances. Yeah, really not that stupid. . .  
If his amnesia prevented him from using Kaneki Ken to obtain information about Goat, he could still be exploited.  
Easier than ever, without memories he would certainly not resist.  
What for? He would probably even be grateful for such an offer.  
One would simply embellish the whole thing a little, press the right buttons with a little sensitivity and Tsuneyoshi would already have a very special weapon in his hands. For years he tried desperately to produce a natural half ghoul, but if fate at least mercifully threw a cheap fake at his feet. . .  
Why shouldn't he at least try to make profit from it?  
An artificial half ghoul was better than no half ghoul at all.  
You had to take what you could get. Yeah, that looked like his producer.

"I expect your support," Arima replied soundlessly, ripping him out of his thoughts.  
"Maybe I'll think about it when you say, 'Please, please,' Kishou-chan~,' Furuta purred with obvious amusement.  
How convincing Arima said that. . . He'd like to have that kind of confidence.  
Or was it even delusions of grandeur?  
But Furuta could hardly blame him.  
He was probably used to everyone dancing to his whistle by now.

"I have no reason to ask you for anything," Arima made perfectly clear.  
"No? Well, but as far as I have grasped the current situation, you come to me and ask me to do something for you without any personal benefit. On the contrary. So I would say that this is quite a situation where person A asks person B to do the thing said person B for person A. "  
"I'm merely delivering Tsuneyoshi's order. "  
"Are you trying to tell me that my dear father should ask me to do him this favor?"  
"No. Nobody has to ask you for anything here, Nimura. You should be aware of your inferior position by now. "

Furuta laughed briefly. Arima didn't play badly, you definitely had to hand it to him.  
"Ouch. You're always so terribly honest, Kishou. It's not necessarily fun to talk to you for a long time," he replied with played regret in the voice.  
"I will tell Tsuneyoshi that you will not obey his command," Arima replied unaffectedly, "But there will be consequences. Be aware of that. "

Furuta tilted his head. Blackmail?  
He wasn't used to that from Arima at all. He seemed really serious.  
"You threaten me? May I ask what with?"  
"I'm relinquishing control of Rize and requesting her transfer to Kyoto. "

Arima played really well, but not fairly.  
Furuta had always suspected that at some point he would have another problem with him being relatively close. Arima knew too much.  
"And you think that makes me change my mind, do you? In case you haven't noticed, I don't care about Rize anymore. I heard, by the way, that Kyoto is supposed to be very nice this time of year. "  
Furuta did not think to admit to his opponent that he had caught him. Time to vehemently deny it.  
If Arima wasn't so terribly emotionless, he would probably have rolled his eyes by now at the latest.

"Whatever you say. In any case, I will now submit the proposal to him. "  
"Don't feel compelled," Furuta smiled, apparently completely untouched. His poker face was absolutely perfect. He wouldn't just let himself be blackmailed. . . But it wasn't in his mind at all to know Rize was out of reach. 

Arima was really like him. Just like him a rotten, manipulative son of a bitch.  
Somebody should say once again that they have nothing in common. Furuta definitely knew his half-brother well enough to know that this was the only wishful thinking of his adorable creator.  
Furuta took a casual look at his watch.

"Oh, so late," he said, then pointed to the door in a sweeping gesture.  
"Time for you to go. Bye, bye. I really enjoyed talking to you, but I have to work and your presence disturbs my concentration. "  
Arima, however, did not move from the spot.  
For quite a while they looked each other in silence before Furuta finally sighed. Slowly it became annoying.

"Kishou, if you've gone deaf as well as half blind, you should really think about retiring. "  
Arima, of course, didn't react on it. How boring. . . Anyone else would have been angry or at least surprised by such insolence.  
"What do you want to do to stop refusing?"

At first Furuta couldn't believe his ears, then he smiled complacently.  
Uh-huh, so he had won after all, it looked like.  
Furuta typed with the index finger played thoughtfully against his chin.

"Hmmmm. I don't really know. . . Maybe a kiss from you?" Furuta mocked, formed a heart with his fingers and laughed before he went round in circles with his office chair.  
"Do you promise?", Arima asked and Furuta smiled smugly.  
"Of course! I promise it high and holy," Furuta swore exuberantly, because he was fully aware of the absurdity of his jokingly meant demand. He won!

Arima, however, nodded. His expression was still dead serious.  
"I take you at your word," he just replied and then approached him confidently. Furuta stared at him stunned, his smile died instantly.  
Arima wouldn't. . . ? No, never. Impossible. That would mean that he. . . Furuta wouldn't lose, would he?! Because of a silly, imprudent joke?

"Wait a minute. . . Kishou, you're not really. . . I mean. . . uh. . . "  
Arima didn't listen to his panicky stuttering.  
He came inexorably closer and Furuta leaned back in his desk chair as far as he could to keep some distance.  
He knew how many of Arima's subordinates talked about his intimidating aura, but had never noticed it himself, and if by way of exception, he had completely ignored it.  
However, his half-brother had rarely come this close to him and now it was really difficult not to pay attention to his authoritarian presence.

"I wasn't serious, I mean. . . come on, I beg you. . . ", he continued to appeal to Arima's mind, but as expected, he did not let himself be distracted. Furuta raised his hands defensively as he actually leaned towards him, ready to push him away if necessary.

"Kishou, please don't do anything you'll regret later," Furuta said half threatening, half weepy. This situation was so ridiculous, but at the moment he really didn't feel like laughing at all. Not at all.  
Arima was so close to him that their faces were only a few centimetres apart.

His eyes were as gray as liquid silver. At the edge of his iris the colour became darker and darker.  
Arima's gaze was frighteningly empty, his lips narrow and colourless, his skin as unhealthy pale as Furuta's own.  
On the outside, Arima had really inherited nothing at all from the Washuu line.  
Everything about him seemed bright. It's very different from him. Furuta was the spitting image of his father. He was really shocked when he found an old photograph of Tsuneyoshi and had to admit that he resembled him almost unbearably.

Arima was really lucky. . . He was enviably beautiful.

Furuta was downright paralyzed, didn't move a millimeter more and already calculated to feel foreign lips on his own lips every moment, but Arima suddenly stopped.  
As if it separated an invisible wall. It took a moment before he got rid of this strange rigidity. Furuta, who had desperately pressed himself into the back of his chair, finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Will you surrender?" Arima asked him soberly. As if he denies the reference, no, the whole situation any meaning.  
"Huh?", made Furuta. Him and devoted? Never! But extraordinary measures required extraordinary means. . .  
He didn't make up the rules.  
When Arima took his silence as an occasion to actually come closer to him again, Furuta quickly turned his face aside and raised his hands between them to protect him.

"Okay, okay, I surrender. I'm waving the white flag, I admit defeat! Now, back with you, what if someone else sees us? I don't want to be embarrassed to have to use the phrase 'It's not what it looks like'. Nobody believes that!"  
"Then that's a done deal," Arima said.  
"I couldn't have known you were so ruthless," Furuta outraged himself and then he hardly believed what he saw, but Arima smiled.

He smiled! It may have been short and weak, it could have been imaginary, but no.  
No imagination. Did he make fun of him?

"I rely on you," Arima told him bluntly, as if nothing had ever happened.  
How could someone be so consistently stoic?  
"Aha. Do you really think that's a good idea?"  
"I have your word. "  
"Nah, it's not worth that much. I mean. . . You know me," Furuta tried half-heartedly to get out of the affair, but Arima didn't seem as if he were even just beginning to let that happen.

"You promised," Arima reminded him tonelessly.  
"Yes, yes. I know that. . . All right, whatever. Because it's you, Kishou. "  
Furuta still couldn't believe it had backfired like that.  
He knew Arima wasn't known for understanding fun, but that was really . . Furuta would certainly not make the mistake again and somehow underestimate him.  
He would never have thought Arima could even consider going into this joke. 

And now Furuta would have to comply his promise.  
In the end, he had no choice.  
If he continued to deny, he automatically took the risk that Arima would take the threat of before and take Rize away from him.  
No, Arima would certainly do it. 

And if he was honest with himself, then Tsuneyoshi would have found a way to force him.  
From this point of view, the defeat against Arima was even more bearable.

The longer Furuta let his new task go through his mind, the more he enjoyed it.  
Maybe this was exactly his opportunity to spread a little chaos. . .

He would help Arima with Kaneki Ken - but in his own way.


	3. Chapter 3

Ken wake with a start.   
He sat suddenly perpendicularly on the cold metallic couch, which should serve him as bed.   
Shivered when the cold crept into his stiff limbs and gave him goose bumps. His heart was beating excitedly against his ribs.

At first he didn't know where he was.  
Confused, he clawed his fingers into the soft fabric of the white robe he wore.  
He looked around. Restless and fearful, ready to jump up at any moment to fight or flee.  
Somehow he felt feverish. He ran his hand over his eyes because they had started to burn. Especially the right one.  
It was deathly silent around him.  
No matter how long he sat and listened motionless.  
Why was it so quiet? Was it always so quiet here? Was he really alone? So secluded?

 

Only after a while Ken relaxed again and noticed that the light in his cell was switched off.  
Strange. . . He had not realized that before.  
Thoughtfully, Ken looked at his hand, turned it back and forth, moved his fingers.  
Watched every movement, ran his other hand over the back of his other hand, over the bluish veins, the cracked fingernails.  
Tenderly touched his cheeks, his lips, his neck, slipped under the kimono and felt his chest and belly.

Same as always, isn't it?   
He didn't know. Couldn't tell if anything had changed about him.  
If he really was a ghoul. . . why didn't he feel like one? Could this body really belong to a man-eater?  
Ken looked at his hands again.  
Have they ever killed before?  
Strangled someone?  
Beat him to death?  
Torn someone to pieces?  
Just the thought turned his stomach.

No. He hadn't eaten people. Impossible. He wasn't a ghoul. Shouldn't he remember it? Why couldn't he remember?  
Ken opened his mouth and let his trembling fingers glide over his teeth.  
Normal. Quite normal. No pointed fangs.  
His fingertips felt his canines and he pulled his hand back.  
They were sharp already, but so were human's. Nothing to worry about. . . 

Ken pressed his lips together and slowly sank back onto the metal couch.  
Turned to his side and pulled his legs. It was cold. So cold that after a moment he wrapped his arms around his body.  
His pelvis and shoulder hurt from the hard ground.  
No ghoul could have those feelings.  
He was sure they wouldn't mind sticking around like that. 

Ken sighed softly and turned back on his back.   
He wasn't tired. Sleep was out of the question, but there was nothing else he could do.  
Yes, he was lucky that they had taken his shackles off and he was allowed to lie down. He had to try to sleep sitting for two nights. Limbs tied up, almost immobile, absolutely unable to change position. 

It had been hell. And not only the nights, also the days were unbearable.  
For hours he could only stare at one point across the wall. Before his restraints were removed, he was given a particularly high dose of the RC blocker.  
It may have been the means or the fact that he could hardly move for days - but as soon as he was released from his chains and ordered to get up, he sank powerlessly to his knees. He had to be carried to the couch. 

Meanwhile he was better, so he could walk again. It was even good to be able to move around a bit.   
Especially since there was nothing else he could use to pass the time.  
When Ken wanted to get up by himself, the RC-blocker suddenly made him dizzy again.  
He felt weird. Whatever they pumped into him, it didn't do him any good.

Ken was strangely weak on his feet, but the con went away. He wandered aimlessly in his cell.   
And although he had felt brightly awake before, he was soon exhausted and tired. But he still didn't want to try to sleep.  
He was too scared. He had too much fear to dream again. About things he didn't know. 

Things that filled him with fear, that made him sad, that didn't suit him. Dreaming of strangers' faces was scary, but even worse was **him.**  
Just looking at **him** had caused a strong aversion in Ken, the shock temporarily took his breath away.  
It was like the situation, as the investigator questioned him the first time.  
The investigator with the white hair, the glasses, the stern look and the immovable expression. He scared him too.

Everything scared him.  
Ken no longer wanted to be afraid, but he drowned in a lake of terrible fears.  
Who was he really?  
What was wrong with him?  
He was so terribly confused and felt lost, completely alone in the world. And that feeling was as familiar to him as an old friend. He wonder if he was lonely in his former life too. 

He involuntarily wondered if someone was missing him. He wished someone would tell him what he had been like before his memory loss.  
Whether he had family or friends. Maybe a pet. How old he was. Whether he was still in school, studying or working.  
The uncertainty was worse than anything he might know about himself.

Ken thought he remembered that he had wanted to talk to **him** before waking up.  
Maybe **he** had answers to his questions. . . But the mere thought of having to face **him** again, even if only in a dream, made him feel uncomfortable.  
Ken sat down on the couch again, laid his head in his neck and stared at the ceiling.  
He wonder what should happen to him in the future.

The vein access in his arm was disturbing and Ken wanted to pull him out, but he was afraid he would inevitably become the target of angry CCG personnel, if he do so. . . And that they'd put a new one in him. And more RC blockers than before.  
Ken wonder if the remedy would harm him if he was really human after all.  
Ken preferred to leave the needle where it was and continued to think about his situation.  
But there was nothing much he could do.  
He just had to wait and see.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

"Good morning, number 240", Arima greeted him calmly the next day and nodded distantly to him.  
"Hello. . . ", Ken replied shyly, avoiding the exploratory gaze of his counterpart. Ken hoped he wouldn't start shaking.   
He was still sitting on the metallic couch, just like all night.  
Arima, who had carried a chair into his cell, sat down, elegantly cross one's legs and placed a clipboard with some empty papers on it.  
"How are you feeling today?", Arima asked and looked at him expectantly. Ken bit nervously on his lower lip and tried in vain to keep his fingers from playing with the hem of the kimono.  
"All right. . . Sometimes I get a little dizzy", he replied and even tried a little smile.  
Arima took the pen out of the breast pocket of his suit and began to write something down. 

"Do you remember me?", he asked.  
"Yes. . . " Ken muttered, "I remember that. You are Arima Kishou. "  
Arima nodded, apparently satisfied. Wrote something down and only then devoted his undivided attention to him again.  
"Do you remember anything else?"  
Ken hesitated. He did not even have to answer verbally, Arima knew how to interpret his reaction immediately.

"I see", he just said. This time he didn't write anything down.  
Arima was silent and seemed to be waiting for something. Ken carefully raised his eyes and looked at his counterpart.  
His hair was the colour of white, cold ash. With his black suit, the wrinkleless ironed shirt and the accurately bound tie, Arima somehow didn't seem to fit into this cell. His eyes were dull, as if there was no life in them. Nevertheless, the view behind his glasses was so penetrating that it was difficult for Ken to keep looking at Arima. But he forced himself to do it.  
Ken was shocked when Arima suddenly rose without any warning.

"I will come back tomorrow", he told him, nodded again distantly to him and turned to leave.  
Ken couldn't really explain it, but he didn't want to stay alone in that cell again.  
He didn't want the man he was so afraid of to just leave and leave him with himself. Why was he so afraid of being alone all of a sudden?  
"Wait!"  
Ken was about to jump up and chase after Arima, but as he looked back over his shoulder, he instantly froze.  
"Yes?", Arima asked surprisingly gently.  
For a moment Ken wondered that he was actually so panicked in front of the investigator.  
"I. . . maybe you could stay a little longer?"  
Ken swallowed heavily. Was he too pushy? Too rude?   
In his position he was certainly not allowed to make any demands.

"Why?", Arima asked back, but made no further arrangements to leave the cell. It was like he was frozen in place.  
But Ken still had the impression that any wrong word could drive him away.  
"So we can talk a little more. . . There are some things I would like to tell someone", Ken confessed quietly.  
When Arima did not react, he decided to revise the statement.  
"Of course you don't have to listen to this. . . I'm sure you have better things to do. I don't want to bother you", Ken implyed a respectful bow while sitting.

To his surprise, Arima turned to him again.  
"What do you want to talk to me about?", he asked patiently and then sat down with him again.  
Ken smiled gratefully. He was glad that his request had been granted.  
But now that he was asked directly what he wanted to tell, he was a little at a loss.  
Maybe he should keep certain things to himself after all?  
Could he even trust Arima?  
He didn't mean to make a fool of himself. Didn't want to say weird stuff and not be taken seriously in the end.

"Do you have dreams?", Arima suddenly asked him.  
Surprised, Ken replyed the empty gaze of the investigator.  
"Yes. . . I really dream a lot", he confirmed, staring consistently at his knees.  
"Were you going to tell me what you dream about?", checked Arima out.  
"I don't understand most of it. It's like looking at individual pieces of a large mosaic. When I wake up, I try to remember, but I don't know who all these people are or when and if these things I see in the dream actually happened. "  
Ken clenched his hands.

"I hate this. I hate not remembering. "  
"Is that all?", Arima asked soberly.  
Ken hesitated. Should he talk about **him**?  
Something in him refused to direct the conversation in that direction.  
"Number 240, if you want to get something off your chest, now's the time."  
Ken flinched.  
"Can you please stop calling me that?", he asked and felt his fingernails drilling into his palms.  
"I have a name. I don't know him, but I'm not number 240. "  
Ken himself was amazed at how strong his voice sounded.

Arima remained silent. He jotted something down again.  
"You know my name. Why don't you tell me?"  
Arima looked up from his work.  
"And why would you want to know? Do you think he'll help you? A name doesn't mean anything. He won't give you back your identity, he's no use to you. An empty shell remains an empty shell, even if you give it a name. "

Ken didn't know what to say to that. It was true.  
His name would probably be completely unfamiliar to him.  
And everything related to him, too.  
"Number 240. . . ", Ken mumbled barely audibly, then shook his head.  
"Is that something like a convict act? Are there so many ghoule trapped here?"  
"Far more than 240", Arima replied willingly.  
"That's a lot of people", Ken noted, unintentionally imitating the tone of his counterpart.  
"Only a fraction of the ghouls we've been looking for. There are four times as many names on our list. "

"If the CCG is looking for certain ghouls. . . Then they are particularly dangerous. Am I looking at this right?"  
Arima hummed quietly in agreement.  
"So I'm dangerous too", Ken concluded. That was only logical. . . Even if it was kind of weird to express the thought.  
"Well, I'd say ghouls always pose a certain danger", Arima replied calmly and tapped the clipboard a few times. The sound made Ken strangely nervous. He tried not to let it show, but every time the pin hit the clipboard dully, his muscles tensed up automatically.  
"It's in their nature. After all, they are not at the top of the food chain for nothing", Arima continued.  
"Predators, huh. . .? "  
Arima stopped, the knocking stopped.  
"Yes, that's right", he just confirmed.  
"This drug, which I'm regularly injected with. . . ", Ken muttered, "Do you think I'm turning into a monster without?"  
"I don't know. You tell me, number 240. "  
Ken hesitated.  
It felt as if Arima's words had lit a fire inside him, which spread to his limbs and made his fingertips tingling.

"I don't want to find out. "


	4. Chapter 4

The sword blades collided, slipping screeching against each other.  
Furuta immediately whirled around, trying to hit him from the other side, but Arima blocked the blow, taking some equally nimble and elegant steps back and thus escaping a dangerous follow-up attack.  
"Faster!" demanded Arima with an unmoving expression and initiated a direct attack on his part.  
Furuta avoided, the blade only missed him by a hair.  
He had wanted to say something, but he didn't find the time.  
If he doesn't concentrate, he'll lose instantly.

Arima knew no mercy. He would seize every opportunity he had, break through every weakness in his defense, turn every ill-considered attack into a counterattack.  
Furuta gritted his teeth and smiled to give a silent consent.  
Then he suddenly increased the tempo.  
Furuta put Arima on the defensive.  
A whole series of sword blows went down on him, but not a single one of them even touched him.  
Arima's defense was absolutely perfect, completely impervious.  
"Faster," Arima shouted over the clanking of the swords.  
Furuta had to give up his offensive when a sudden counterattack brought him out of step.  
He hastily stumbled back, but did not manage to bring enough distance between them, because Arima immediately followed him.  
Furuta ducked at the last second under the sword.

The blade just cut a hand's width above him with a buzz through the air.  
Even before he was able to get out of this situation and into safety, the blade raced vertically towards him from above. He had first tried to evade again, but no way to do so.  
Furuta went on his knees, leaned his upper body back and blocked when he realized that otherwise the sword would hit him anyway.  
The force of the blow almost tore the weapon out of his hand and the pressure would no less. Arima wouldn't stopp until he collapse under this pressure.  
"If I didn't know any better, I could get the impression that you wanted to kill me," grinned Furuta.  
He wouldn't last long anymore.  
"If I wanted to kill you, it'd look different," Arima replied coolly.

Furuta twisted his eyes.  
"Arrogance doesn't suit you, Kishou," with these words he braced himself against the enormous pressure of Arima's weapon, which literally hung over him like a sword of Damocles, turned out of its unfavorable position, jumped up and aimed the sword's grip at Arima's face in order to force him to evade.  
Then he whirled the sword around again, with the intention of hitting Arima from the side. Furuta had already expected the attack to have no effect and adapted his next movements to the situation.  
But Arima did not let him push him into a corner at all.  
It wasn't that Furuta didn't know what he was doing.  
Swordplay was his element. He had a lot of experience, their father had already started training him when he was seven years old.  
And he hadn't stopped practicing, even though his father hadn't noticed him for a long time.  
Nevertheless, he was not even rudimentarily superior to Arima. Equal at best.

Anyone else would have surrendered long before him, but Arima. . . Of course, he doesn't.  
He was flawless. His movements were fluid, powerful and difficult to predict.  
Why couldn't he at least not be so outstandingly good at one thing?  
Furuta and Arima whirled around each other, always in a circle, the sword blades collided hard at short intervals. The metallic screeching reverberated in Furuta's ears, so that he soon could no longer say exactly when their blades crossed at all.  
The swords were hardly to be seen from the outside, blurred by the inhumanly high speed of their fight.  
"Faster!" Furuta laughed at some point, although he felt his exhaustion. But he wouldn't give in.  
He didn't want to lose.  
Not this time. Not again!

"Come on, Kishou! Faster, until I get dizzy and I don't know where the top and bottom is anymore", he animated his half brother once more, when he didn't respond to it.  
"I want," Furuta said and fended off one of the rampant sword blows, "a fall to the ground. I'm not gonna let you finish this before. "  
Arima did not react and if he did, Furuta had been too busy with their fight.  
Only when Arima actually increased his tempo a little did he know that his words had not gone unheard. Furuta was aware that he wouldn't last much longer.  
It became more and more difficult to fend off the force of the attacks, the grip of his sword almost slipped away several times in a row and also his reaction speed decreased.  
"Well done," gasped Furuta, who noticed his own mistakes, but had no more energy to correct them acceptably.  
There were only small mistakes, but Arima realized every single one.  
Another four or five rounds - then it was over.

Arima's frontal attack he had nothing more to oppose. He still tried to break out of their circle, but he briefly lost his balance, blocking Arima's sword, but he fell. Or maybe he dropped himself, too. Yeah, maybe he was kinda glad it was over.  
He came up on his back, that sword flew out of his hand on impact. He hadn't tried to hold it either. Furuta stared at the ceiling of the training hall and just breathed. Still, he felt like he couldn't breathe.  
That was funny.  
When was it gonna get so damn hard to breathe?  
His pulse was racing, the blood was resounded in his ears and he was all sweaty. A few strands of his pitch-black hair were hanging in his face.  
He heard footsteps.  
"Seventeen minutes. "  
Arima's voice was as calm and callous as ever. Then he pointed the tip of his sword blade directly at his chest. It was like he's gonna want to stab him any minute.  
"Seventeen?" Furuta repeated and giggled breathlessly, "Kishou, when will you take me seriously?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Arima replied soberly. It didn't seem like he wanted any clarity at all. No, he didn't need them. He knew exactly what he meant.  
Furuta shooked his head, had fallen silent, but smiled narrowly.

"Why have you spared me so long? You could've taken me out a lot sooner. "  
Arima remained silent, only lowering the sword as Furuta tryed to sit up.  
Only now did he feel something running down his cheek. Automatically Furuta carefully touched the spot and saw the fresh blood wetting his fingertips.  
A fine cut, only very thin. . . The superficial injury was not worth mentioning and yet somehow it had a bitter aftertaste.  
Furuta looked up when Arima reached out his hand to him to pull him up.  
The friendly gesture, however, only caused a familiar feeling of deep frustration, anger and displeasure in Furuta.  
It involuntarily reminded him of when they were children and had practiced together just like now, but in front of their father's eyes.  
Furuta had lost as usual and Arima had then approached him to help him up, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.  
But it wasn't.  
That was not what was expected of him at the time.  
Not what he was raised to do.  
Arima had actually never made it easy for him to hate him.  
But that didn't mean Furuta couldn't at least keep trying.

He rose without taking Arima's hand.  
Rather, he would have reached for the sharp sword blade and pulled himself up by his own power.  
Arima lowered his hand like the sword only a moment before.  
"You're a bad loser, Nimura. "  
No question, Arima was of course absolutely right about that.  
"And you're a bad winner," Furuta accused him of "you're welcome to keep your mercy. Just end it when the opportunity presents itself. "  
"Mercy", Arima repeated, as if he were not sure what this word meant and wanted to pronounce it again himself for practice purposes.  
"For my sake, generosity, your loving devotion, or your heart-warming grace - call it what you like, but spare me from it in the future, will you?"  
Furuta turned his back on Arima and stretched himself once extensively.  
As a result, his shoulder cracked quietly and a slight pain went from his back to the thigh of his right leg. Maybe he hadn't warmed up enough. Or he just overstretches.  
That would definitely cause sore muscles tomorrow.

"I already know why I don't train with you so often anymore," Furuta sighed snivelling, "I can really feel that in every bone. You're pretty rough sometimes. "  
Furuta gave Arima a reproachful look, which his half-brother returned without a spark of life in his eyes.  
"I thought I was merciful. "  
"In your possibilities. And as we both know, they're really very limited. "  
Furuta smiled smugly and then bent to his sword.  
He examined it in detail and soon discovered what he was looking for - the sword blade showed clear notches as expected, pieces of the thin, sharp metal had jumped out. 

Arima's weapon was in no better condition.  
"Oops," Furuta said without feeling guilty at all.  
"I guess you can forget them."  
Arima tilted his head slightly to the side.  
"Yes. Looks like it. "  
"Better you tell Daddy we broke the new special models. He will definitely not be angry with you~", teased Furuta in a played childish tone.  
"I think there are more important things to talk about right now. "  
"So we're not gonna tell him? Great idea, Kishou, I'm in! I won't tell anybody, I'll keep quiet like a grave. "  
"I mean the current development of number 240," Arima specified and shoved up his glasses.  
"What he doesn't know won't get him hot. Really ingenious. You've become a real rebel," Furuta continued cheerfully.  
"Could you please stop talking past me?" Arima asked him coldly. It was only nuances in his pitch that changed, but Furuta knew each one and it looked like his half-brother was actually a little annoyed by his behavior.  
"I'm not. What malicious insinuations. You should be ashamed of yourself," Furuta denied indignantly.  
"You let your work grind," Arima suddenly changed the subject, "Your colleagues complain because you don't appear regularly. "  
"Well... Personally I think that's a rumor. "  
"What do you spend your time with instead?" Arima went after it.  
"Eating, drinking, sleeping, breatheing - the usual thing you do. "  
"You're lying. "  
"You don't believe me that I have basic needs? Wow, I'm not sure how to think about this right now. "  
"Nimura, no excuses. Tell me why you miss work. "  
"All right, you got me," Furuta replied in a dramatic tone, "I'm a prostitute. "  
"Nimura!" Now Arima actually sounded a little harsh.  
Furuta laughed, grabbed his water bottle and made sure that he left the training hall as quickly as possible.  
"Okay, see you then, Kishou. It was nice talking to you but I have to go now, I'm busy, you are busy - see you later! Sometime. I'm sure we will see us again soon. Or not. Probably not. "

Furuta waved to Arima before he disappeared around the corner and firmly decided to avoid his half-brother for the next week.  
If there was one thing that was really annoying about Arima, it was his excessive stamina coupled with his penchant for keeping an eye on him.  
Arima suspected something.  
No wonder. He was much too attentive not to notice anything.  
And when your highly esteemed colleagues stabbed you in the back. . . But yes, he had to reckon with that.  
And it doesn't surpriseed Furuta at all. On the contrary, it only confirmed his views.  
People were really terribly ungrateful.  
After all, it had been Furuta for a long time, who had pushed countless overtime hours with a false smile.  
He had done the work of others in order to be able to be absent from time to time later without being denigrate immediately.  
Yes, he had actually tried to prevent such a case at least a little. Didn't seem to work.

Relying on others was amazingly similar to have a noose around your neck.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

Furuta was in a hurry to take a hot shower.  
Arriving at his apartment, only silence greeted him.  
He closed the door behind him and it was as if he had now definetly ruled out all noises.  
Furuta went to the bathroom.  
Then he gets rid of the traditional Kendo clothes, which he even used to wear with a sharp sword during training. A little later warm water pelted down on him.  
Furuta closed his eyes.

He was tired. Only now did he realize how much the practice fight with Arima had actually exhausted him.  
For quite a while he stood still and tried to relax a little, but inside he found no peace.  
Furuta finally stroked his wet hair backwards.  
When he looked down at himself, he noticed several bruises that appeared on his pale skin like colorful splashes of color.  
Two just below the ribs, one on his hip, another dangerously near the kidney area. Furuta smiled when his suspicions confirmed.  
Arima had indeed aimed at his organs - but he had missed, but must have hit him with the handle of the sword.  
Furuta couldn't remember when that even happened.

His gaze suddenly darkened. But he wasn't even really angry at Arima. After all, he had learned nothing else his whole life, had been trimmed from childhood on to force his opponents to their knees as effectively and quickly as possible.  
Arima must have internalized this lesson so much that he had unconsciously resorted to it even in training.  
Furuta drove his thumb over the bruises. Even the slight pressure he exerted hurt.  
His body was far too weak. Much too fragile. Absolutely not enough for his project.  
He had to change something. He couldn't possibly achieve his goals before. Any fight would be way too risky and he could die way too soon.  
Furuta didn't intend to get into any fights with strong opponents anyway, but he would be stupid if he didn't secure himself as soon as possible.  
If he miscalculated, it could mean the end of him.  
And once he had pushed Tsuneyoshi from his throne and made sure that he inevitably became his successor, he probably had to expect attacks on his life at the latest.  
Furuta was a hybrid and still more robust and agile than any normal person, but that wasn't enough.  
His own weakness. . . For a long time he had dealt with this intensively.  
He learns to hide them. And somehow he had finally managed to live with it.  
Actually, he wasn't even striving for real strength. But...

When Furuta turned off the water, he was cold.

Nothing should change until late into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Arima stood in front of the huge window wall that completely lined the top floor of the CCG on the right side.  
Motionless, he looked down on Tokyo.  
People, vehicles, the wide streets with their innumerable shops - all this was absolute meaningless.  
The highest building in the immediate vicinity was the CCG headquarters.  
It was only in the distance that Arima could see several skyscrapers with their grey, uniform facades, monotonously rising out of the south of the insignificant lives of countless city dwellers.

In such moments he wondered whether it was actually worthwhile to overthrow the world order. Whether afterwards everything would not simply remain the way it was and nothing would continue to take on meaning.  
Such bleak thoughts have been a part of him for a long time.

"Are you making progress with him?"  
His father's voice seemed to penetrate every little corner of the room. Arima stood with his back to him.  
He turned his head slightly to the side, turned away his gaze from the window, but didn't look directly at his father either.  
"None worth mentioning."  
Tsuneyoshi remain in silence for quite a while.  
"I understand", he finally said calmly, but something in his pitch sounded final. As if he had suddenly decided to have Kaneki Ken executed after all.

"He still thinks he is a human being", reported Arima, who now turned completely to his father.  
Tsuneyoshi had hardly changed externally. He looked exactly as he remembered him since his childhood.  
The long beard that reached to his lap and the equally long white hair that fell straight over his back.  
While all employees wore suits, Tsuneyoshi was wrapped in a formal black kimono. His hands were blotchy and sinewy - but Arima knew what power it contained.  
Tsuneyoshi's face was furrowed with deep wrinkles, his face expressionless. The black eyes, however, were awake and cold. Yeah, that's what he always looked like. While everyone around him was aging at a rapid pace, for Tsuneyoshi time had come to a standstill.

"He's lost touch with his ghoul identity. Everything he can remember seems to date back to before he was transformed by Kanou", Arima continued.  
Tsuneyoshi leaned back in his chair, the wood creaked quietly.  
He waited. His cold eyes were filled with an almost unique spark of darkness.  
But if Arima thought about it more carefully, then he already knew the same devastating look from Furuta.  
"He asked me his name", Arima said unperturbed, "but I kept it quiet. If he is to be successfully integrated into the CCG, it would be counterproductive to give him clues to his old identity. It would be most effective to observe the situation first and plan the next steps later to avoid taking unnecessary risks. We should let him farther believe that he is to serve as a source of information."  
"Is that so?", Tsuneyoshi asked thoughtfully.  
"It's just a suggestion on my part. Nothing more", Arima made it clear, "I await further instructions and will of course carry them out."

Tsuneyoshi's immobile facial expression became a little softer. Hardly noticeable. He still made an unrelenting and relentless impression.  
"I'm counting on you", Tsuneyoshi told him.  
Arima nodded.  
"Shall I deliver Furuta a message?"  
When the name was mentioned, a dark shadow scurried over Tsuneyoshi's face, which would have chased an ice-cold shiver down the back of anyone other than Arima.  
It was almost as if the room had suddenly become a few degrees cooler.  
Arima had wisely concealed the fact that Furuta had tried to ignore his father's order.  
He did not want to be confronted with the anger of the head of his broken family and Tsuneyoshi needed no further reason to despise Furuta. There's already been more than enough of that. 

Arima was certain, however, that his father's hatred of his younger half-brother was merely a product of his boundless disappointment.  
Tsuneyoshi had probably never really overcome Furuta's betrayal. In the end he had always loved him very much - even if not for the reasons a father should have to love his son - and had great expectations of him.  
It was no secret that the Furuta line, alongside the branch of the Arimas family, was particularly respected because its offspring had special abilities.  
They were particularly perceptive, physically stable and resilient or possessed quite other useful talents.  
And beyond that, of course, they should be obedient.  
Follow the rules. Don't question the system.

Arima understood Furuta well.  
He himself had never felt particularly loved by her father and felt nothing but disgust for the Sunlit Garden or the CCG.  
It was all the more sobering that they simply couldn't find a real connection to each other.  
Arima didn't know how Furuta really felt about him. He was always hiding behind sharp remarks and this abysmally false smile.  
It had become almost impossible to take a look behind this facade.

Their relationship has always been complicated.  
But Furuta had agreed to train with him.  
The consent was very surprising. Arima had not counted on it, but had not allowed himself to show his irritation about that.  
Furuta, too, had by no means reacted in astonishment to this offer.  
"Fine. I have nothing else to do", he had said. As if this kind of interaction between them were perfectly normal.  
It had been years since they had practiced swordfighting together.  
And Arima wasn't exactly known for actively approaching others.

In retrospect he was not sure where he had got the motivation to take a step towards Furuta.  
Maybe because he didn't feel so isolated when dealing with his younger half-brother.  
Most people revered Arima for his abilities. Glorified the countless murders he had committed in his career as an investigator and literally saw him as a god of death.  
Others strived to outdo him, did everything they could to become better than him, and eventually broke on their own inadequacy. Those investigators hated him. Hated him, but feared him at the same time.

There was hardly anything in between. 

Almost nobody treated him the way they treated other people. He was always the exception, always delimited, trapped in the vacuum that had formed between admiration and hatred. Completely incapable of freeing himself from it.  
He just couldn't connect to the outside world anymore.  
But Furuta was not afraid of him, nor did he worship or detest his deeds.  
Sometimes he didn't even respect him and although that would be offensive to most people, Arima was totally fine with it. Thereby he no longer felt untouchable.  
Not quite as much as a lifeless weapon that, at his father's command, wiped out all those who were in his way.

Normally, Arima completely refrained from fighting for training purposes.  
He simply didn't need it, because there was nothing left to learn.  
And who chould he ask? Most were afraid of defeat against him.  
Ui and Hirako saw no point in trying to stand up to him and Hairu would hold back because he was her superior.  
Furuta, on the other hand, had no problem fighting against him with everything he had.  
It had somehow fascinated Arima to see how much energy he was willing to put into a hopeless fight.  
Furuta hadn't really believed for a second that he could win against him - but he had not given in.

Kaneki Ken had also fought in this way.  
He tried to defeat him at all costs.  
But his techniques hadn't even been as subtly as Furuta's.  
His movements were too hectic, therefore too imprecise, too. . . desperate.  
But Ken wasn't afraid either. He was scared for the life of his friends, yes.  
But his own life had not been of great value to him.

Life in this world was generally completely worthless. It was a cold world, dark, marked by pain and violence.  
Arima had wished early on that he could simply disappear from her.  
To break away from everything and no longer have to endure anything.  
He had been eleven years old when these thoughts first appeared.  
And he hadn't managed to suffocate them yet.  
But Arima would hold out. At least until he reached his goal.  
And then he could finally. . . finally go in peace.  
Just to die without having achieved anything else except taking countless lives was the last thing he wanted.  
"No further instructions to Furuta. "  
"I see. "  
He bowed shortly before his father.  
Arima would revolt against this fate, with all his might.  
With everything he had.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 

"Here you go!"  
Arima looked up as someone put a steaming cup of coffee on his desk. He could tell from the smell that this was his favourite variety.  
Black, without milk or sugar - just like ghouls drank it.  
"Thank you", Arima said and looked up at Hairu standing next to him. But that wouldn't have been necessary at all. He didn't ask her to. No, it would never have occurred to him to ask his subordinates to do anything for him.  
"No problem at all. I hope it tastes good, I've made an effort", she laughed and tilted her head when she discovered the book in his hands.

"You're reading again", she said in surprise.  
Arima nodded.  
"Yes, I missed it very much."  
The visual impairment became more and more pronounced. Even with his glasses he could only compensate them with difficulty. The Kanji quickly blurred before his eyes, he got a headache, when he tried to read for too long.  
"What's the book about?", Hairu asked curiously.  
Arima put a bookmark between the opened pages in the book before he slammed it and placed it next to the report of a cochlear worker.

"I don't think you'd like the story", Arima replied thoughtfully, reaching for the cup of coffee. Hairu watched him attentively, an expectant expression in her eyes.  
He took a small sip and then looked motionless for a moment at the black surface, as if he could see something in it that remained hidden from others.  
"And? Does it taste good?", Hairu asked.  
Arima blinked, put the cup down.  
"Yes. It's very good. "  
"Good!", Hairu was pleased and suddenly seemed much more relaxed.  
Then she took the book in her hand and leafed through it a little.

"Why shouldn't I like it?"  
Arima leaned back in his desk chair and crossed his legs.  
"The content. . . He doesn't suit you. Hamlet is also a very old book. I don't think there's much interest in it these days at all. "  
"Oh", said Hairu, "That's a shame. Then you don't have anyone to talk to about it. But I could read it! Really!"  
Arima shooked his head.  
"That's very kind of you, but no need. Hamlet is a historical tragedy. I think something lighter would suit you better. "  
"Hm", Hairu sounds disappointed and looked down, "I see."  
"Will you give me the book, please?", Arima asked calmly and reached out his hand.  
"Ah! Of course", Hairu replied and hurried to hand it to him.

Their fingers were touching a little and she almost dropped the book in fright. Suddenly her heart was beating up to her neck and she would have loved to touch him again. The moment was so fleeting that she couldn't tell if his fingers had been warm or cold.  
"I would recommend Pride and Prejudice. It's a very nice book. Older, too. But I'm sure you'd like it better. "  
Arima's gaze was directed at the uncluttered cover of Hamlet. He kind of seemed like lost. Completely absorbed in his thoughts, as if nothing and nobody could reach him anymore.  
And she could only thought how sad he looked like that. 

"Yes! I'd love to read it", Hairu said and smiled.  
No response. Whether he had heard her words at all, she couldn't tell.  
"Where's Ui?", Arima asked. He had not still talked to him and wanted to know if anything had happened during his absence. The meetings with V often prevented him from keeping track.  
"Huh? I don't know. He's probably practicing with Hirako right now... Oh, no! I promised I'd join them today!"  
Immediately she hurried to the door, but paused before running out into the hallway.  
"See you later! And drink the coffee before it gets cold!"  
Hairu gave him a warm smile and waved - then she was already gone.

Arima, who had only very hesitantly raised his hand to wave back, slowly let it sink again.  
She probably hadn't seen the gesture anyway.  
Arima took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  
He was so infinitely tired.  
Maybe the coffee would do him some good. Arima took a sip of the hot drink. Hairu had done a good job, the coffee tasted delicious.

But even after Arima had completely drunk up, he didn't feel awake. 

Finally Arima put the empty cup aside, put his glasses back on and let the edition of Hamlet sink in his bag. He couldn't afford to take too long a break. It was time to get back to work. After all, there was enough to do.  
With this knowledge in mind, Arima devoted herself to the report of the cochlear worker and read the latest information on Kaneki Ken.

And they were indeed surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that the next chapter took so long. Many thanks to everyone who read this and left Kudos or even comments!  
> And I hope my translation didn't turn out as bad as it seems to me right now...^^"


	6. Chapter 6

_When Ken exhaled, he could see his breath. It was so cold that he wrapped his arms around his body, hoping to hold at least a little warmth. He was shaking and he had goose bumps. Ken looked around disoriented. It wasn't snowing, but the ground was icy cold and white. The cold was burning on the soles of his bare feet and in front of him was a lake, lined with bony dead trees.  
He didn't know where he was or what he was doing here. No, he didn't know this place.  
Slowly Ken set himself in motion. He was completely alone and it was so infinitely quiet that it seemed unnatural to him.  
Far and wide he could not see anyone and there was not a single cloud in the sky. The air was clear.  
It only took Ken a few steps to reach the lake. Undecided, he stopped in front of it and stared at the bare, almost transparent surface.  
Ken looked at his blurred reflection for a moment in the ice.  
Finally he carefully set one foot on the frozen lake, then the other.  
It was still quiet around him.  
So damn quiet. . . has it always been so quiet?  
Ken stood motionless for a while, looking up into the blue sky, wondering if he was here for a reason. Why couldn't he remember? And why did this feeling seem so strangely familiar to him?  
When Ken looked back at the ice, he blinked in surprise.  
He could swear that the single red flower in the middle of the ice had not been there a moment ago._

_Amazed, he walked towards it. He was far too curious to turn around now, as he had just planned. Actually, it was dangerous for Ken to run on the ice for too long. He was afraid he might break in. But when he had discovered this flower, his fear had suddenly gone. Something pulled him to the middle of the lake. Even if he tried to fight it, he couldn't turn around anymore.  
Ken trembled when wind came up and drove through his hair. It's been so incredibly cold here.  
I wonder why. So cold. . . Meanwhile he barely felt his feet. But that wasn't bad. At least the pain had disappeared through the numbness.  
The flower was beautiful. She was sticking out of the ice like it was natural. Her leaves had a deep, healthy green tone, the petales were as red as blood.  
Somewhere he had seen this flower before.   
Ken squatted next to her, reached out his hand to her.  
He touched the blossom with a delicate touch.  
"Spider lily...“, he murmured.  
"A spider lily? But what is she doing in a place like this?"  
Fascinated, he saw how the flower actually sprang directly from the ice.  
Was something like that even possible?  
Ken twitched when he suddenly heard a noise. Something like scratching.  
Only very quietly, so quietly that he could have imagined it.  
He stood up, looked around, but was still completely alone.  
"Hello?", Ken shouted anyway, "Is anybody there?"  
He didn't get an answer. Strenuously he listened into the silence and was frightened again when another strange scratching sounded.  
"If there's anyone there, please show yourself“, said Ken, who was getting restless. He could not explain it properly, but suddenly his heart beat faster, he felt watched.  
What was wrong with him? Where did this oppressive feeling come from? A knock ripped him from his thoughts. Yes, a knock. Very clearly.  
And it came. . . Horrified, Ken's eyes widened.  
Under him. Something was under the ice.  
And indeed. There was someone in the ice-cold water, just below the ice layer.  
Pressing his palms flat against it, like he was trying to get to the surface.  
It took Ken a moment to realize that this person looked like himself.  
White hair, grey eyes - but not like his, not like his at all - the expression in them was so. . . dark. Cold. Skeptical.  
Not at all like himself.  
His reflection was almost naked, wearing only a kind of black suit that showed so much skin that Ken wondered why he hadn't frozen to death long ago.  
He flinched when his opposite struck the ice with his fist.  
Only very hesitantly Ken squatted again.  
"Who are you?", he asked, reaping only a shake of the head.  
How should they communicate? They couldn't talk to each other, but Ken didn't know what to do to free him.  
He couldn't just break open the ice.  
He had no strength to do this and he would inevitably break in himself.  
His reflexion again pressed his hands against the ice, now looked at him beggingly and finally scratched the hard, unyielding surface with his fingernails from below.  
"I can't get you out“, Ken shouted and looked around desperately to see if he had anything to help him with. But nothing.  
Nothing.  
"I don't know how."  
What was he supposed to do? What was he gonna do? If he didn't do anything, he'd die, wouldn't he?  
He couldn't just let him die like that!  
The person who looked so much like him looked at him sadly, begging him to free her somehow.  
Ken turned away because he couldn't stand the sight. He was sorry. So sorry and it hurt. . .  
Yeah, it hurt so bad he thought he was gonna die.  
Something was wrong.  
His likeness suddenly hit the ice so hard it trembled under Ken.  
Frightened he looked at him again and then hectically withdrew, away from this monster with his face.  
A single Kakugan glomm through the icy surface and Ken became dizzy. He felt everything slipping away.  
The frozen lake, the flower, his ego trapped in the ice - everything.  
Ken toppled to the side and hit his head._

Then he woke up.  
In his cell. On the floor. Of course. The CCG had captured him.  
Ken turned from the side onto his back and looked aimlessly into the darkness of the room.  
It was so quiet here, too.  
When he stood up, he held his head. The stabbing pain was there again, more so than it had been for a long time. It happened that he was completely painless for a few hours, but now he could hardly stand it anymore.  
Ken hissed softly as he tried to relieve the pain by gently massaging his temples. 

This dream. . .  
Was he trying to process that he could really be a ghoul?  
Ken had to admit that he slowly doubted his own existence as a human being.  
He had only been given water for four days. Nothing more. Just water.  
And he wasn't hungry, like he ate something every day.  
Could it be?  
No. No, not really.  
Ken was sure there was a time he'd eaten regular meals, but now. . .  
His entire existence. . . was it possible to deny yourself so much?  
What had he done in all the time he couldn't remember?

There had to be something he hadn't forgotten. Anything. 

His favorite color, what kind of music he had heard, his favorite character from an old children's series.  
But none of it came back to him.  
The pressure and the stabbing in his head became more and more unbearable.  
Ken gave up when the pain became so strong that he groaned desperately and thought he had to vomit any moment.  
He turned to his side, pulled his legs against his body and closed his eyes.  
Tried to relax so he'd feel better. Yeah, maybe he could even get some sleep. Just sleep. . . Without any dreams that would stir him up so much.  
Ken went to a lot of trouble not to think of anything. He focused on his breathing.  
He had to rest. His memories would never come back if he tried to force himself.  
And yet he couldn't stop. Started thinking about his old life over and over again.  
Like a fucking endless loop.  
His mother?  
No face. No name.  
Did she love him? Was he raised by her?  
Was she alive or dead already?  
And if he was actually a ghoul, was she a ghoula?  
Nothing but questions and a terrible emptiness that he couldn't fill with any memories. .  
If Ken had siblings, there was nothing left of them either.  
What else?  
Did he have any friends?  
Ken sighed softly.  
Didn't matter anyway. He couldn't even remember his family in any way. Why should it be any different with friends?  
Did ghouls have anything like friends?  
Suddenly Ken felt more lonely than ever.  
What if he really hadn't had anyone before?  
Maybe it wasn't so bad that he didn't know how he had lived before he was captured. 

His life could have been terrible before.  
Not that his current situation is desirable, but. . . Maybe he could escape something dark from his past.  
Yeah, maybe he even had a chance at a fresh start.  
If he cooperated with the CCG. . . ?  
Ken wasn't sure what would become of him.  
In fact, the prison guards did not appear to be interested in working with him.  
And Arima?  
Ken didn't really know what he was supposed to think about him.  
It was completely impossible to assess him. He had not the slightest idea what the man might have been thinking about during their conversations.  
Arima was distant, cool and at the same time so calm that his mere presence slowly began to make him himself calmer as well.  
The initial panic had disappeared. At first Ken was very surprised, but he was happy to finally be able to relax a little when Arima came to visit him.  
They didn't talk much to each other.  
Would that change if he could remember something?  
Arima was the only person he had a connection to here.  
Being able to talk to someone, even for a short time, was incredibly relieving.  
To be trapped in this unbearable silence all the time, nobody could bear it.  
If Ken could concentrate on a conversation, he didn't have to ask himself so many questions anymore.  
And not only that. . .  
Ken almost believed his dreams would gain intensity every night.  
Thoughtfully he let his gaze wander through the small room as if he were searching for the reason for it.  
And if you took it exactly, he even found it.  
"What...?“, Ken exhaled in horror. No. It couldn't be. That... He didn't have...  
Ken slowly sit up, then slipped on his knees to the door.  
With trembling fingers he stroked over the deep furrows in the metal.  
Where did they suddenly come from?  
Did they come from him?  
What sheer violence must have scratched the cold, impenetrable metal. It must be something big, something sharp.  
As if in a trance, Ken followed the furrows with his fingertips. And so many of them. . .  
Several centimeters deep.  
Did he try to escape?  
Did he?  
Panically Ken retreated from the damaged door, as if he had only now understood that this could be his work here.  
No, it was definitely his work.  
There's no way anyone else had been in his cell.  
Ken put one hand in front of his mouth to dampen his scream.  
The mere thought that he... That he really... oh, god.  
He couldn't think clearly anymore.  
Even if he really was a ghoul, even then he shouldn't have been able to do that. He got RC-blockers. Whatever was slumbering inside of him should never have come out. The drug was supposed to stop it. But it still broke out of him.  
Without him being able to stop it.  
Without him noticing it in the first place.  
Ken thought he was gonna fall.  
It was like he was trapped in a nightmare.  
He had lost his identity just to get back the identity of a monster.  
He had not been lied to and there was no mistake.  
He wasn't human.  
A human being wasn't capable of it.  
Just the certainty that something was inside him and could cause such damage. . .  
Ken stared at his trembling hands.  
But how? How did he do it?  
With his fingernails? He didn't think so.  
But with what else?  
What had he used to damage the metal like that?  
Ken was confused, scared and hopelessly unsettled. 

The next morning, employees of cochlea found him sitting in a corner of the room. As far away from the door as possible.  
"I'm sorry", Ken had only said in a husky voice before they discovered the deep traces of his Kagune on the door.  
The employees then left his cell in a hurry and locked it thorough.

Arima didn't come to see him that day.


End file.
